


Solstice

by Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)



Category: Robin of Sherwood (TV 1984)
Genre: F/M, Pagan Festivals, Paganism, Slice of Life, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/pseuds/Llwyden%20ferch%20Gyfrinach
Summary: Robin, Marion, and the outlaws celebrate Winter Solstice in Wickham.
Relationships: Little John/Meg of Wickham, Marion of Leaford/Robin of Loxley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Solstice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coralysendria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralysendria/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to my amazing beta Vae for invaluable help and letting me know just how big a wren is (not very). Coralysendria, happy Yuletide and I hope you enjoy this!

The winter had already been a wet one, and the melt of an early snow and the subsequent rain had ensured that the roads leading to Wickham were a muddy impasse. With the only way in or out being through the forest on foot, the villagers were more cheerful than they’d been in months, and happy to openly welcome the outlaws.

Robin greeted Edward with a faint smile and a handclasp as John rushed past them both to whirl Meg off her feet. “Welcome.” Edward nodded. “We’ve made room for you all in the barn if you’d like to stay.” He straightened a little, became more formal. “Welcome, Herne’s son, to our home for the Solstice.”

Robin held down the awkward shrug he wanted to give. “Thank you. We’ve brought what meat we could to help; hope your lot don’t mind venison.” He gave a quick grin. There was a shriek of joy from one side as the children cornered Much and Tuck and discovered the dried fruits the latter had liberated from a lord’s shipment. “And then there’s that.”

Edward shook his head, his lips twitching. “We’ll manage.”

It was strange, being part of a village again, even temporarily. Though the people supported them covertly as much as they could, they usually stood apart; you never knew who might be watching. This day’s freedom was different. John, as always, was the first to adjust. He was still a villager at heart himself, and Robin suspected that if he could, he’d return to that life without a problem. Much, similarly, had no problem mingling with the others; they were easy with him, and made him smile, and Robin appreciated that. He accepted village life the same way he had outlaw life — it simply was.

Will was standoffish and taciturn, but he nearly always was. It was an attitude the villagers were accustomed to in some of their own, though, and before long he was sitting with an ale, being silent along with some other men, the angle of his shoulders just a little less stiff.

The women never quite knew what to make of Marion. She was a lady, had grown up with finer things than most of them would ever see — and she wore trousers and hunted and shot with the men. She had a way about her, though, or maybe Robin was just biased; before long, they were chatting pleasantly together as they spun and she carded.

Nasir…to be honest, even Robin wasn’t always quite sure what to make of Nasir. He’d never met a Saracen before, knew nothing of their ways, and Nasir wasn’t inclined to say much. For the most part, he kept to the edges of the groups of villagers, and there was respect on both sides, but they gave him a polite distance.

Robin himself might not be a part of this village, but he’d lived in similar ones most of his life; he should have gotten along at least as well as Will, if not John. But there was always knowledge that set him apart — neither they nor he could put aside the fact that he was Herne’s son. He needed to look out for them, and they held him in a kind of reverence, placing him apart from them. He’d always been a bit of a loner, with an inclination toward quiet and small groups, so he might not have minded, but even as they placed him apart, they wanted his blessing and attention. Their attention and distance combined were daunting and occasionally frustrating. And they all knew he put their lives in danger just by being near. It made things…difficult.

“I trust you’ll be part of the hunt with us,” Edward said, bringing Robin a cup of ale. 

Robin accepted it, still a bit lost in his thoughts. “If we haven’t brought enough meat…”

Edward snorted. “The wren hunt.”

“Oh, right! Sorry.” Robin shook his head. “I should think we all will.” But he knew that wasn’t what Edward meant. He twisted his mouth in something not quite a smile. “It’s my duty, after all.” He didn’t even mind it, truth be told; the hunt was a tradition, and it would be fun. But he still never knew quite how to handle having the duties that came from Herne.

“Good luck for the Robin to kill the wren,” Edward said. Robin groaned, and he kept going. “I know, but we’ll all be thinking it. They’ve made you an oak crown for the occasion.”

“I’m not Herne,” Robin pointed out. “Shouldn’t that be for him?”

“We’ve another for him on Solstice night,” Edward answered. “We thank him as he blesses us. Until then, it’s your part to represent him.”

Light steps sounded behind Robin, and he turned. “And what if the Robin’s wife kills the wren instead?” Marion asked, smiling as she took his hand. “Will that still be good luck?”

Robin grinned at her. “Are you going to kill every wren in the forest?”

“Just the ones you’re aiming at,” she said, laughing.

“Oh, I see how it is!” Robin laughed in turn.

Edward shook his head at them. “If the Robin’s lady kills the wren, we’ll still be honoured by it.”

“Good answer,” Robin told him.

“I should help with the preparations.” Edward nodded to them both. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Marion looped her arm around Robin’s waist as they watched him go. Robin leaned into her. She always seemed somehow to know when he needed her. He looked down at her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m endlessly grateful for you.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “No matter who you are to them, to me you’ll always be my love.”

Robin smiled back. “And no matter the time of year, you will always be my May morning.”

“Good answer,” she teased him. 

In the end, due to a combination of luck and skill (and some of the villagers deliberately looking the other way, Robin was sure), he did take the wren, with a single shot. They cheered and draped him in a cloak of dry oak leaves to match his crown, and Robin dutifully carried the bird back to the village, trying not to think too hard on the ceremony of it all. Will and John teasing him about it helped, and he wondered if they knew how much he relied on them for this. He suspected that John did. And that Will considered it his duty to keep Robin from getting swamped in “nonsense” and a swelled head regardless.

The bird was carefully plucked, its small feathers were handed out, and it was cooked by the altar Edward had set up, tiny pieces of meat passed around to the elders as a blessing. Robin, as the hunter, got his own morsel and ate it as he tucked the feather into his pouch for good luck and good weather. This part wasn’t much different from either side; his place was as just another man. Well, a man in a rustling cape and crown that felt a lot heavier than they were.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to make a quiet getaway,” he muttered, shifting (and rustling) again.

Marion smiled and kissed him. “If that were a problem, we wouldn’t be here. Stop fretting.”

He couldn’t, though. It sometimes felt as if his life were as heavy on him as the cloak was — and at the moment, it was stifling.

Still, it was warm, at least, with the night coming on. The villagers and outlaws together held torches high and made their way through the mud to the side of Herne’s lake, Robin leading them. As it approached midnight, the murmuring voices died down, and Robin stood forward, the others following as they quenched their torches in the water, then knelt in the dark to wait.

Robin felt him before he saw him — less a supernatural thing, and more that he knew the forest, knew the currents of her air, could feel when they were disturbed. And Herne was an amazing disturbance. The forest knew him, almost seemed to move around him. Or maybe there was no “almost” about it.

Robin bowed his head and heard the others do the same. Herne stretched out his arms, and there was complete silence. Then he brought a spark out of his robes, and Robin held up a new torch, and Herne lit it. There were intakes of breath and sighs of relief as it flared to life.

“The light returns,” Herne’s voice boomed out. “The oak from the holly. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Robin murmured with the rest. He turned to light Edward’s torch from his, and they slowly passed the flame around, smiles following it. By the time all the lights had returned, Herne was gone, but the villagers bowed in his direction before they headed back, laughing and chatting and singing.

The talking and singing continued through the night, the littlest ones tucked into beds or sleeping at their parents’ feet and the bonfire raging in the village square. Much picked up his pipes, and some of the girls laughed happily and went to dance by him; Meg pulled John into the fray, and one of the bolder women coaxed Will out, too. Tuck whirled around with one of the young girls shrieking in delight, and Nasir watched them all with a faint smile. To one side, Edward was overseeing the boil pot with the wren’s remnants in it, cooking the bones clean before displaying them on the altar.

Marion tugged at Robin’s hand, but he resisted. “With this thing on?” he shifted the heavy cloak of leaves. “I can barely move.”

“Nonsense,” she told him firmly, “you’re doing just fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” he protested. “Here —” he started his way out from under the cloak.

“Oh, no,” Marion said firmly, though she was still smiling. “No, that’s yours.”

He grinned, getting it off and stretching for her with it. “The queen needs one, too.”

“There is no oak queen — no! Robin!” She laughed and fled, and he chased her.

“Not so funny when it’s the other way around, is it?” he called.

She darted into the dancers and behind John and gave him a smug look. “It’s your robe.”

John looked back at her, then stared at Robin. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“John!” Marion cried, betrayed.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Sorry, lass.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Then she looked at Robin.

Robin grinned, lunged, and threw the cloak over John as Marion blocked his retreat.

“Hey!”

Robin grabbed Marion’s hand and fled while John sputtered. “I like that! I’ll get you both for this!”

“Might as well be the oak king’s stand-in,” Robin called back.

“You’re the only one tall as an oak,” Marion added, laughing.

With John chasing them around the village, some of the youngsters joining in for the fun of it, it was easy to forget for a few minutes the duties and difficulties of being Herne’s son and the most wanted man in Nottinghamshire and simply be Robin. The solstice was about rebirth and celebration, the end of the darkness, and it was good to celebrate with a bit of lightness of their own. 

In the end, he was caught, of course, and submitted more or less gracefully to having the cloak (a little worse for the wear) draped back over his shoulders, though he held Marion close, and it wasn’t so bad shared between the two of them. He lay on the cold ground, breathless from laughter, Marion by his side, and thought he could sleep like that quite happily.

“Come on, love,” she said, kissing him briefly. “The barn will be warmer and quieter.”

“Not until daylight,” he protested, sitting up. “Or I really will fall asleep.”

“Mm. Shall I see about a bit of stew? I saw Alice doling some out a while ago.”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.” He smiled as she kissed him again and stood.

John took her place, dropping to the ground next to Robin as he watched her go. Robin threw a leaf at him half-heartedly.

“That thing still too heavy?” John nodded at the cloak, but Robin knew that wasn’t all he was asking.

“It’s fine,” he answered. “Better now.”

“Just remember we’re all here for you,” John said. “Just not to help carry it literally.”

“Thanks for that,” Robin answered dryly, and John grinned.

“Speak for yourself.” Will nudged John with a foot as he came to lounge on the nearest wall. “I’m not carrying anything either way.” Robin forbore from pointing out that he was, after all, here.

“Are we heading to sleep soon?” Much asked, rubbing his face as he joined them. “How long until sunrise?”

“Another hour or so,” Robin answered him. “You can go early, though, if you like.” 

Much just gave him a dirty look and sat down nearby. “I’ll sleep later. Sleep for a week, maybe.”

“No you won’t,” Tuck said cheerfully, ruffling Much’s hair. “We’ll have Christmas in a few days, and you won’t want to sleep through that.”

“Oi, Nas,” Will said, hooking his chin at Nasir. “You have a holiday round about now?”

Nasir shook his head. “Nothing.”

They were interrupted by Marion coming back. She eyed them all tolerantly and smiled. “I was only getting food for one, you know.” Despite that, she had several bowls with her, and Alice followed with more. Either she’d seen them coming over, or she just knew them all that well; Robin couldn’t honestly say which.

“Oh, bless you, my child,” Tuck said, sighing happily. “And I didn’t even have to cook it first.”

“He didn’t cook it?” Will said. “I’ll have some.” Tuck glowered at him and he laughed.

Marion passed out the stew and thanked Alice, who nodded to her and Robin and headed around the fire to her own place.

“This is lovely,” Marion murmured as she sat next to Robin and looked around the village. He followed her glance, and probably her thoughts — it would be so nice if this peace could last.

“One day,” he promised her, “if it’s at all within our power.”

She smiled and kissed him, and they sat there until the sun came up, tired but cheerful good-nights following them as everybody dispersed for their beds, and he almost thought that it really might be possible.


End file.
